


For Immediate Release

by anatomical_heart



Series: Haptics [1]
Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: BDSM Vibes, Barebacking, Choking, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent Mention, M/M, The D.C. Years, alcohol mention, divorce mention, top dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 04:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatomical_heart/pseuds/anatomical_heart
Summary: It's 2011 and Dan’s marriage is falling apart.





	For Immediate Release

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ifthesuncomesup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifthesuncomesup/gifts).



It's 2011 and Dan’s marriage is falling apart. Sarah keeps talking about needing a change—of career, of scenery. It hadn’t occurred to him until they were having the conversation that their marriage was also something she needed to change; they’d been together almost a decade.

He’s hurt. Angry. But pretends not to be while at work. He gets really good at convincing people “amicable” is something he’d say in everyday conversation, even if he weren't going through all this. How’s their separation going? _Amicably. Incredibly amicably._ No one’s the wiser, not even Alyssa—there’s a reason he works White House Communications.

He's taken to grabbing a few drinks at a bar after work before going home, so what? (And by _home_ , of course, he means the month-to-month he’s been renting for the past three.) But he's gotten out of the habit of ordering anything harder than beer while he’s out—he can drink more and enjoy the way it tastes, rather than how quickly it will numb everything out.

One night, after Friday’s news dump, he’s feeling raw. The Sixers game on the TV above the bar helps, but his nerves are shot. He needs a vacation. And, frankly, he needs to get laid. It's been so long, he honestly can't remember the last time Sarah touched him like that. And it’s been weeks since the separation kicked up some old feelings, urges he’s buried for years. He’d thought Sarah had been it, for him; he hadn’t gone looking for anything because he didn’t want anybody else. But with her gone, he’s had… time. Space. And he was getting… anxious. 

Like tonight, there’s this lithe young thing hanging out near the back of the bar who's caught his eye. He’s blond. Loose-limbed. Has an _amazing_ ass that Dan would almost _pay_ to get a crack at, at this point.

Dan can’t see his face, but he does see the guy’s friends getting ready to head out and he decides to make a move. He feels good about this. Ready. Half-hard from the rush of it.

When the friends leave, Dan winds his way over to where the guy is standing at the bar and settles a hand on his hip. Murmurs in his ear, “You’re the hottest thing in this place.”

The man straightens and Dan has the sudden realization that maybe he just hit on a straight guy who's going to take him out back and give him a black eye for it—just in time for his press conference on Monday. And then the man turns around and Dan comes face to face… with Tommy.

“Oh shit,” he breathes, not knowing how the fuck he’s going to pretend away any of what just happened.

Tommy’s lips part in surprise. “Dan?”

He runs a hand over his mouth, trying not to stare at how Tommy’s shirt gaps at the neck, showing a long, enticing stretch of throat. This is _bad._ “Uh, yeah. I’m—sorry. About that. I thought you were someone else.”

Tilting his head to the side, Tommy looks at Dan, curious. “Who did you think I was?”

Dan doesn’t have a good answer to that—it was bullshit—so he sets his half-empty bottle of beer on the bar and says, “Have a good weekend, Tommy.” He turns on his heel and leaves, without looking back. 

That night, Dan jerks off thinking about Tommy. What he wanted to do to him before he knew it was him. What he wanted to do _after._

Things at work are weird. 

Tommy finds him eating lunch at his desk right away on Monday after the morning’s briefings with POTUS. He has a small window of time to eat before rounding up the staff for a meeting prior to the afternoon press briefing. Tommy knocks twice on the door. Dan looks up from his sandwich and feels his stomach bottom out when he looks up.

“Hey,” Tommy says, looking awkward in his suit, an odd slant to his mouth Dan has never seen. “Sorry to—”

“No, no, no,” Dan says quickly, trying to appear normal. He wipes away the mayonnaise on his upper lip with his napkin while motioning Tommy inside. “Come in.”

Tommy doesn't take Dan's invitation, just stays hovering in the doorway. “I just wanted to—can we talk?”

“Uh, sure,” Dan says, even though he will do no such thing while sitting mere feet from the Oval. “Can we…”

Dan’s phone rings. He picks it up immediately, relief flooding his veins. “Pfeiffer.”

Tommy deflates a bit, biting the inside of his cheek. He looks at his watch.

“Yeah. Gimme ten minutes. Mhm. Be right there.” He hangs up and looks at Tommy. “Sorry. Another time?”

“Yeah. No problem. Good luck with—that,” Tommy says, gesturing toward the phone.

Dan hums skeptically before finishing the last bite of his sandwich and gathering up some folders for the emergency meeting he's now rushing to make on-time.

Tommy leaves without further comment or incident, and Dan is somehow able to avoid being cornered by him for the rest of the week.

So, it’s Friday night and Dan decides once he's done for the night, he's really _done_ for the night. He goes straight back to his apartment after work, and is glad to shed his briefcase, suit, and tie almost as soon as he gets through the door. He strips down to his boxers and a sleep shirt and turns on the Warriors vs. Mavs pregame show as background noise so he can figure out what to do for dinner.

He feels mostly-human again by the time there are two minutes left in the game. The Warriors are up almost 22 points, so he figures he can take his empty plate to the kitchen and grab another beer. A knock comes on the door as soon as he shuts the refrigerator. 

Out of reflex, he looks at the clock. It's almost 10:30. He picks up his phone. No calls, or texts—nothing to indicate someone would be there. Curious, wondering if maybe it’s Sarah, he goes to the door and opens it.

It’s Tommy, standing there in jeans, a zip-up hoodie, a t-shirt, and holding a six pack of beer, looking anxious. Then again, Tommy looking anxious wasn’t unusual.

There are only a small handful of people who know where Dan's been staying. He doesn’t want to invite people he knows over to this place that so embodies how his marriage is over—prefers to meet people in town, right after leaving the office, if he does at all. He is instantly filled with a sense of dread. “Tommy?”

The corner of Tommy's mouth quirks upward as he looks Dan over, then peers around him, further into the apartment. “Am I, uh—interrupting?”

Dan looks down at his robin’s egg blue boxer shorts and feels his face flush. “Uh—no, what’s—what’s up?”

Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other and refocuses on Dan. “We never got a chance to talk this week.” He raises the six pack as if in explanation.

“Yeah, sure, come on in,” Dan says, and invites him in. Because even though he loathes the thought of talking about any of this with Tommy, he doesn’t want this stone around his neck for weeks or months more. He doesn’t want to think that every time someone on the team looks at him sideways it’s because they’ve heard through the grapevine that Dan and Sarah are separated and are _supposedly totally fine, but did you hear he tried to pick up Tommy Vietor in a bar last week?_

He shuts and locks the door behind Tommy and tells him to have a seat wherever in the living room while he changes clothes. He goes to the bedroom to grab a pair of jeans, and when he turns around, Tommy’s standing in the doorway.

“Tommy—” Dan starts, an edge in his voice. It's a warning of some sort, though he doesn't exactly know what.

“Last week at the bar,” Tommy says, ignoring the growing tension between them.

He has no idea what to say and his mouth’s working before his brain can even begin to catch up, “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I just—”

“I’m interested.” It’s matter-of-fact. Tommy looks serious.

“What,” Dan breathes, feeling a flush crawl up his neck.

Tommy steps into the bedroom. “I want you.”

Dan blinks, surprised, but not showing it. They look at each other then, sizing each other up.

Then Dan tosses his jeans to the floor and lifts his chin. “C’mere,” he says.

He watches the change come over Tommy at those words, how once permission has been given, he doesn't hesitate at all, and crowds into Dan’s personal space.

Dan reaches up, one hand falling along the back of Tommy’s neck while the other slips unceremoniously under Tommy’s t-shirt, wanting to feel the hard muscles of his abs under his fingers for himself. Tommy had clearly taken a new direction in his work-out routine over the last few months; he’d heard the chatter in the press pool, same as anyone.

Tommy's hands come up to curl in the waistband of Dan’s boxers, which earns him a raised eyebrow. _Hm. Eager._

“I meant what I said, last week,” Dan says, “You were the hottest thing in that bar.”

Tommy smirks. The backs of his cool fingers sliding against the warm skin of Dan’s stomach and moving due south are bright points of light in the dim room, rippling through Dan’s entire body. “Yeah? That wasn’t just a line you use on all the boys?”

The hair on the back of Dan’s neck stands on end. Smart mouth. _Oh, this is going to be fun,_ he thinks. “Just the ones that look to be begging for it.” He reaches down to palm Tommy’s hard-on though his jeans.

That night, Dan learned Tommy might not look it at first glance, but he was fucking born to suck dick. So nonchalant about Dan wanting to fuck his throat raw. Impressive gag reflex. And the way he looks choking on it, tears welling up in his eyes, is fucking priceless.

You could say they started up after that.

Dan learned pretty quickly just how hot Tommy was for him, and how much he was willing to let Dan do to him—how far his limits went—because it got him off, too. Dan's never been with anyone who’s so unashamedly responsive, who so obviously wants his _body._ Sarah had talked about how he was _brilliant_ and _funny._ Tommy says things like, _I’ve been thinking about your cock down my throat all day._ And _I almost couldn’t sit through that briefing without thinking of you near-suffocating me with your goddamn thighs this weekend, holy shit. Can we do that again? Please?_

It’s fucking incredible. He’s never felt so _wanted._

He loves it when Tommy walks around his apartment with his come striped across his thighs. When it’s dripping out of him. When he spreads Tommy's ass after fucking him and he lets out a wet moan as Dan dips his thumb into his hole, spreading his come over it so it glistens.

They both go out of their minds when Tommy’s nice and pliant. Whether after a couple drinks or being woken up after just a few hours of sleep. One weekend, they even tried poppers—Tommy's idea. Jesus Christ.

Tommy likes it when Dan fucks him with a hand around his throat, choking him. A thrill goes through Dan every time. That Tommy trusts him so much he's willing to surrender the _air in his lungs_. He gets this look on his face—pupils blown wide, a dazed, dreamy expression. He talks about it in this reverent way. Says he feels like he’s _flying_ , afterward, and Dan believes it, because it takes him hours to come back down to anything like reality. Dan makes sure to hold him, after. To let him know he's got a tether to the ground. He runs soothing hands over Tommy's chest and ribs. Kisses the back of his neck. And he knows Tommy's back when he lifts his chin and kisses his mouth softly. 

Dan finds that one way to get Tommy from zero to 60 in about 0.2 seconds is to call him a _slut._ Because Tommy is one. Panting for it. Begging for it. Willing to do anything for it. On bended knees. On the other end of the phone. In front of him. When Dan’s buried to the hilt inside of him. And Tommy can get him to do just about anything he asks with a single look. When Tommy can somehow look _up_ at him through his lashes, even though they're practically the same height. That innocent-as-fuck expression.

And Dan finds that he’s happy. He doesn’t dread going home after work anymore, knowing that Tommy’s on his way over or already waiting for him there. He feels the vice loosen around his chest. People notice his change in mood, but he doesn’t indulge their curiosity. And neither does Tommy.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by an offhand, rather innocuous comment @ifthesuncomesup made about Tommy being ogled that actually had nothing to do with Dan at all and it ate my brain in a ~~terrible~~ fantastic way. Thank you so much, bb.
> 
> _[Haptic communication](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haptic_communication) is a branch of nonverbal communication that refers to the ways in which people and animals communicate and interact via the sense of touch. Touch, or haptics, from the ancient Greek word haptikos, is extremely important for communication; it is vital for survival._


End file.
